Virgin Territory

by Marilyn Todd

  Terrible thing, nerves. Especially before a long and arduous journey. Sends you reaching for all manner of drugs.

  Unfortunately, after a day or two, Claudia began to have a dragging feeling in her stomach and an overriding wish that if only it were that simple! She tried. Honestly, could anyone have tried harder? But trying to converse with Sabina was like drawing teeth: impossible without the right tool, and whatever might be required to open the woman up, Claudia didn’t possess it. Instead, Sabina would creep up on her and that strange monotone would swing into action.

  ‘I have witnessed mountains split asunder,’ she would say, ‘spilling rivers of blood and drowning the land. I have witnessed fingers turn to claws and skin turn to feathers as men and women took the form of vultures and tore each other to pieces.’

  That wasn’t all. Her favourite theme was invisibility, how she could make herself disappear at will and no one was any the wiser…

  Drusilla shifted her position and began to snore softly against her mistress’s ear, cheerfully blocking out the neighing and the shouts and the clatter of hooves from the yard outside as a runaway horse was cornered.

  ‘It’s difficult to say whether she’s mad or not.’

  Her movements were careful, yet not too precise; elegant, without appearing rehearsed. At first Claudia blamed the contents of the little blue flagon. Drink or drugs, it had to be the answer. However, when Sabina fell asleep one afternoon she examined it and found it completely empty. Not so much as one tiny droplet inside. No smell, nothing. It was exactly as it appeared to be—an empty blue bottle.

  Where did that leave her?

  Had Sabina been born insane, she’d have been smothered or put to the sword because, like it or not, this was the norm. Rome needed to breed healthy, strong and perfect citizens or the empire would be weakened, and any disabilities—mental or physical—were eliminated at birth. With someone like Sabina, the signs might not have been so easy to detect, but there was little compunction in snuffing out a sickly life, even at the age of five or six.

  What was going on here?

  That Claudia was involved in an elaborate hoax was obvious, but who was the perpetrator? Surely not this strange, ethereal creature? Odd by any standards, yet as far as Claudia could determine, Sabina seemed totally without guile and for a woman practically old enough to be her mother, she behaved more like a small child. Or no. Rather a docile, domesticated pet… Carefully, so as not to disturb Drusilla, Claudia positioned her glass on the floor, but the cat woke on the first movement, instantly alert for the safety of her brood. Satisfied they were still sleeping soundly and could manage a little longer without her, she began to wash, her purring vibrating all the way down Claudia’s breastbone.

  ‘What do you think, poppet? Have the holy sisters been secreting the Strange One within their enclave?’ Drusilla’s head began to butt Claudia’s chin.

  ‘That’s what I thought. Since there can only be six at any one time, the Vestals are hardly likely to break their sacred vows, are they? And in any case the woman’s perfectly capable of performing basic rites and rituals.’ Point her in the right direction and she’d obey smartly enough. Silently, yes, but instantly.

  She certainly had the unlined face of a celibate, and put it down if you like to the vacant eyes, but Sabina could easily pass for five years younger, a boast few Roman matrons could make. If Claudia had as few grey hairs in twelve years’ time, she’d count herself very lucky indeed.

  ‘But the most telling thing, Drusilla, is the Vestals lead an indoor life.’

  ‘Mmmmrr.’

  ‘Precisely. Their days are either spent tending the Eternal Flame inside that tiny circular temple, or else they’re tucked away in their living quarters next door.’

  They appear in public only for certain festivals, so their skins aren’t tanned the way Sabina’s is, nor are their hands rough from work. Their nails would not be short and dirty, their fingers would be as soft as any noblewoman’s.

  Which raised another question. Where had Sabina been for thirty years?

  ‘Suppose Eugenius is the hoaxer?’ she asked a stretching Drusilla, as she turned down the lamp.

  The cat jumped soundlessly on to the tiles. ‘Mmmr.’

  ‘You’re right. Completely out of the question.’

  How could he possibly foresee Claudia would only just catch the boat and not denounce the imposter much earlier? Ah, but suppose she isn’t Collatinus’s real granddaughter? Suppose the retiring senior Vestal was the real Sabina? What had happened to her?

  Drusilla could be heard finishing off the veal in the darkness, and Claudia cupped her chin in her hands. The warm winds of Africa were redolent with a pungent mix of salt air, spices, wine and meat roasting in the tavern kitchens. The punch line of a joke filtered up above the babble and chatter below, followed by a chorus of such raucous male laughter that the listener was left in little doubt as to the nature of the jest. The atmosphere was heady, intoxicating.

  ‘Broop-broop.’

  ‘Of course I don’t miss Rome, why should I?’ She punched her fist into her bolster. ‘It’s not as though there’s anyone waiting for us.’

  Drusilla arched her back and began to rub round Claudia’s ankles.

  ‘All right, there was that investigator chappie. Whatshisname.’

  ‘Mrrap.’

  ‘Maybe I do remember his name, so what?’ Claudia sniffed loudly as she threw back her bedcovers. She thought she’d built up something of a rapport with that Orbilio fellow, but she’d neither seen nor heard from him since those grisly murders a few weeks back. ‘He can boil his head in porridge for all I care.’

  Two sandals ricocheted off the wall to prove the point.

  She had jettisoned all ties with the past in order to wangle herself a wealthy, ageing husband and the new Claudia had emerged like a bright and splendid butterfly, every trace of those dark days kicked over so many times the trail was impossible to follow.

  Unless, of course, you were a particularly tenacious member of the Security Police.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. ‘Madam, it’s me. Cypassis.’

  What was it with this woodwork that made it so damned attractive to knuckles?

  ‘Well?’

  Her big-boned maidservant slipped furtively into the room, carrying the most foul-smelling tallow candle ever to have been moulded. ‘It’s about—’

  ‘For gods’ sake, girl, put that out.’ Claudia jumped out of bed, flung open the door and fanned new, if not fresh, air into the room. She lit an oil lamp before asking, ‘So?’

  The customary dimpled smile had disappeared, and the girl’s eyes were as wide as sieves.

  ‘It’s Mistress Sabina, madam,’ Cypassis said. ‘She’s disappeared.’

  IV

  Claudia’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Define disappeared.’

  They breed them tough in Thessaly, but not tough enough. Cypassis’s lower lip trembled when she spoke. ‘Just that. One minute she was in her room, the next…’

  Claudia picked up a large, bronze mirror by its lotus handle and waved it menacingly. ‘You’ve been at it again, haven’t you?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Dammit, girl, we’ve only been here five minutes.’ Lamplight glinted on bronze. ‘Whose bed was it?’

  The mirror was now so close Cypassis could see her own reflection. She knew better than to try a denial. ‘Dodger’s,’ she said weakly.

  What? That bow-legged little runt? Claudia shook her head in despair. This was typical of Cypassis. She was neither a marriage-breaker nor a heart-breaker, she simply left a trail of warm memories and hot mattresses wherever she went. Commendable sentiments, which didn’t excuse her behaviour tonight.

  ‘Give me one good reason why I don’t turn you into cash this instant.’

  Tears welled up in the slave girl’s eyes. ‘I was only gone a half-hour. She was sleeping when I left, I thought…’

  Claudia waved her hand in a
dismissive gesture. ‘Never mind what you thought, have you asked around?’

  Cypassis’s thick plait bounced as she nodded. ‘The tavern, the stable yard, the street—everywhere. No one’s seen her.’

  Or admits to having seen her. It was that sort of town. Claudia yanked aside the window hangings and peered up and down the street. ‘Fabius?’

  ‘He’s out visiting army vets, he hasn’t come back yet.’

  Ah. ‘So apart from us, no one knows Sabina is missing, is that right?’

  The plait bounced up and down again.

  ‘Quick. Round up Junius and Kleon and the others,’ Claudia said. Assuming they can walk.

  ‘I’ll make up for this, madam, I promise.’

  Claudia slipped out of her shift and kicked it across the room. ‘Damn right you will. In the meantime, you make bloody sure the boys are mustered by the back stairs in ten minutes flat.’ She plucked the first stola from the top of the box.

  ‘Let me—’

  ‘You’ve done enough damage. Now hop to it before I change my mind about selling you.’

  Frankly she couldn’t give a toss what happened to that silly cow Sabina, and the only reason Cypassis was involved was because Fabius hadn’t thought to bring female servants for his sister. Honestly, that man! Two decades of army life had developed his muscles to such an extent they completely filled the space in his cranium. Without the constant discipline and routine he’d grown used to, Fabius could no more think for himself than fly backwards. However, Claudia urgently needed to find Sabina. The whole idea was to travel to Sicily under the Collatinus umbrella—she certainly didn’t want her own name bandied about. Word travels fast in the Empire. Especially if you go around losing Vestal Virgins left, right and centre.

  The party headed straight for the Temple of Minerva, because if Syracuse was the island’s capital, its hub and its nerve centre, then this was the kernel of Syracuse. Minerva, patron of Sicily. Minerva, patron of October. And since yesterday was the first of the month, the sacred Kalends, the temple would have been a magnet for worshippers. It was the obvious place to start—this splendid monument built by the Doric people who once ruled here but not on account of its gold and marble and ivory. Minerva, like Vesta, was a virgin.

  Inside, the group split up with Claudia choosing the gallery. Not that she suspected Sabina to be up here, but the portraits were exquisite. Let the others search the nooks and crannies. She was halfway along when Junius beckoned.

  ‘Look,’ he whispered reverentially. In his open palm was a garnet ring. Sabina’s sole adornment.

  ‘Where did you find it?’ Unlike his, Claudia’s voice echoed to the vaulted rafters.

  ‘At the foot of the statue, with the other offerings.’

  Claudia’s breath came out in a rush. It meant Sabina had simply gone walkabout. No kidnap, nothing sinister.

  Just as I’d hoped, she thought. Sabina came to give thanks for safe-conduct…which means she won’t be far away.

  ‘Cypassis, you go back to the tavern in case she’s returned, and Kleon, you go with her.’ This was not the time of night for a girl to be wandering alone. ‘Oh, and if Fabius gets nosy, say she’s taking a late bath or something. You two,’ she addressed the Nubians, ‘try the Temple of Apollo, and while you’re up there, check the bridge to the mainland. See whether the sentry’s let her pass, or whether he’s noticed anything unusual tonight.’ You could never be too careful. There was a definite smell of fish in the air.

  ‘Junius, follow me.’

  The young Gaul brightened visibly as Claudia made her way towards another temple with bronze doors and a richly cladded pediment. No sign.

  ‘She kept telling me she could make herself invisible,’ she said irritably. ‘I’m beginning to believe her.’

  She stopped to ask a whore, fat as a hippo and black as a banker’s mood, her tunic flung wide in invitation, but she laughed in their faces.

  ‘I only watch the men, dearie.’ She waggled huge breasts at Junius. ‘Fancy your luck, laddie?’

  Cheeks aflame, he followed Claudia deep into the bustle and banter of what was known, quite rightly, as the best natural harbour in Sicily. A myriad of tiny yellow lights flickered on the ships moored in the bay. The dockside swarmed with humanity from all walks of life and Junius kept close to his mistress. Syracuse might be the island’s arsenal and by day her air might reek with the smell of her foundries and ring with the sound of her hammers, but when the sun went down, no matter how hard-working and earnest, men were men the world over.

  They were now entering that part of the city where apprentices spent money they didn’t earn on women who gave them more than they bargained for, and where pick-purses and cut-throats gorged on drunks and greenhorns.

  ‘There’s no way she’s down here,’ she said, but as they turned to head home, a familiar face stood out in the crowd. Claudia shouldered her way through the drunken throng.

  ‘Sabina!’ The face had disappeared. ‘Sabina!’

  Jumping up to look over the human sea, she saw Sabina turn left. What the devil…? Didn’t she know that was the docks? Sharp elbows cleaved a fast path through the crowd. In the narrow street, two wagons rumbled towards each other on a collision course and Claudia dashed between them. Vaguely she was aware that Junius was trapped on the far side, shouting and gesticulating for her to wait. He’d catch up.

  ‘Sabina, what on earth are you doing down here this time of, night?’

  The fake Vestal Virgin smiled a dazzling smile at Claudia’s right ear. ‘The sky is a deep, dark treacherous pool,’ she said, stroking the little blue flagon. ‘It sucks you in and drowns you.’

  Oh, well. Long as I know.

  ‘Come on.’ She took Sabina’s arm and pulled her roughly along the street. Laughter and light spilled on to the cobbles from taverns and food shops, the smell of frying fish and charcoal hung thick in the air.

  Damn. Was it left here? Or right? She couldn’t remember. Left. Definitely. Suddenly she realized the alley ahead was blocked by four reeling, drunken sailors.

  ‘Need some company, darling?’ one of them roared.

  ‘Or d’you need something else?’ another said.

  ‘Yeah. Something stronger.’

  ‘Or harder?’

  As though these men were of no consequence, Claudia steered her docile charge in the opposite direction. Their footsteps echoed on the cobbles behind her, but the advance was slow and no threat. Why, then, should she be shaking?

  ‘Shit!’

  She was in a dead end. And the footsteps and the catcalls came closer and closer. The high sides of the storehouses magnified the sounds.

  Claudia looked round, her eyes quickly growing accustomed to the darkness of the alley. She did not feel out of place. She’d spent a large chunk of her childhood in alleys such as this, whenever her drunken mother threw her out. Somewhere in the distance, two tomcats were squaring up.

  ‘The one on the left looks the softest,’ she hissed under her breath. He reeled more than the others, could barely keep upright. ‘When they come close, hit him with this.’

  She held out a piece of broken timber.

  Sabina’s hand hung limp at her side.

  ‘Take it, dammit!’

  The alley was musty, stale. Smoke from a stoke pit drifted over, grey like a sea fret. Grey like a grave.

  She could see them clearly. Frames solid from outdoor work. Frames which would not damage easily. Sailors, definitely. Wharfies didn’t have these excesses. Wharfies didn’t have the rolling gait. Sailors, their first night ashore after how long? Too long. What started off as a game had turned ugly, but they were drunk. And drunk meant slow…

  Ratface was the leader. She knew the type. ‘Waiting for us?’ Snigger. ‘That’s nice, innit, boys?’

  The yowl of the tomcats sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘I likes a bit of red meat.’ More sniggers.

  ‘Then eat this!’ She bounced a piece of fallen
masonry off Ratface’s forehead. He reeled, blood streaming down his face to blind him.

  Laughing and whooping, the other three tumbled forward. Claudia screamed ‘Hit him!’ but the silly cow just stood there. She’d dropped the makeshift club and was stroking that bloody blue flagon, even when one of the sailors made a grab at her tunic. Ratface was mopping blood with his kerchief. Funny how the face bleeds so copiously! Claudia swore under her breath. Kicking one assailant’s legs from under him, she flung herself at the piece of timber and whacked Sabina’s attacker hard on the kneecap. He buckled, screaming. She used the reverse swing to hit the fourth man in the stomach. She was right he was the softest. He was spewing his guts up.

  Before she could run, Ratface threw one arm round her waist and his hand clamped over her mouth.

  ‘Want to play dirty, do yer?’

  Kicking and fighting and squirming and squealing, she caught Sabina’s eye.

  Run! Run, you silly bitch, and get help!

  Sabina stood stock-still in the middle of the alleyway. Claudia thought she could hear humming.

  Shit!

  Ratface’s companion was back in the fray and together they dragged her face-flat against the warehouse wall. She could feel her stola being pulled up round her waist, felt Ratface’s blood dribble down her neck.

  ‘Me first, darlin’.’

  His breath smelled of stale wine and bad teeth. The hands pummelling her flesh were calloused and rough. His laugh came from Hades.

  The bones in Claudia’s legs had turned traitor. All that was left in their place was jelly. Plaster and dust filled her nostrils.

  ‘Hold her, Squint, while I ditch me loin cloth.’

  Ratface’s hand fell from her mouth and Claudia gulped in the stale night air. Screaming was pointless and Squint’s grip was like iron. Across the alley, two men were retching and groaning. Soon they would recover. She prayed Sabina had run for help. Only somehow she doubted it.

  Claudia forced herself to go limp. She pretended to whimper and Squint, befuddled by drink, relaxed. She counted. One, two, three! Spinning round, she jabbed her fingers in his eyes. He fell into the blackness, roaring like a wounded bull. Ratface, caught half-in and half-out of his loin cloth, seemed undecided. Claudia made up his mind for him and rammed her head straight into his genitals. His breath came out in a long, low moan and he fell to his knees, writhing in agony.